


ive been reading all the signs, and its not looking good for me

by backofthefront



Category: DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Constipation, F/F, Porn with Feelings, Unrequited Love, how do I even tag this, semi-requitted love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7641598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backofthefront/pseuds/backofthefront
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose has got to stop doing this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ive been reading all the signs, and its not looking good for me

**Author's Note:**

> self-indulgent. title from push-ups by the front bottoms. the lyrics are pretty relevant to rose's internal monologue in this story.

It wasn’t the first time this happened. It probably wouldn’t be the last, if Rose were honest with herself. She was very rarely honest with herself.

It always seemed to come down to this- stealing what little solace, illicit companionship and validation that she could in the dead of night, in times when the inky blackness couldn’t mask the darkness of her thoughts.

Insomnia was the least of her problems, really. It was less of a problem and more of a side effect, caused by her actual problems- the things keeping her up at night.

There was a storm outside, as if nature were a cruel writer out to draw a parallel between the weather and her inner turmoil, or something. Her sheets clung, choked her. She had twisted around in them for hours, trying to sleep. Eventually, she knew it was pointless. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last.

Her bare feet plunked down on the floor, and she sat on the edge of her bed for a minute, running her hands over her face, through her hair. Thinking.

On nights like these, she had a few options. There was the gym, where she would assault an inanimate object- the battered red punching bag- in a futile attempt to tire her body out enough to force her mind to sleep. The kitchen; there was always the possibility of some ice cream the others hadn’t devoured yet, and nobody would be awake to harp at her for eating straight out of the carton. Something mindless in the Netflix queue.

She sighed; at the same time a clap of thundered sounded, booming so loudly she swore the tower shook; she could feel it in the cavity of her chest; her ears were ringing.

Standing up, she snatched her cigarette box and lighter off her dresser, padding over to the sliding door. There was a small balcony there. It was a great place for a smoke, or to hide, or think something over.

She leaned against the railing, one arm resting on it, the other holding the lit cigarette to her lips.

She inhaled, held it. Exhaled.

It should have been raining, really. It was apparently a few miles away, still- thunder loud enough to wake the whole tower and paralyzing bright flashes of lightning, but no rain. At least not yet.

She was glad, though, for the use of the balcony now. Another puff. She watched her smoke rings float off into the indigo darkness, dissipating.

It wasn’t doing much to calm her nerves, though. If anything, she was just- well, she hated to admit it to herself. Rose needed something she herself couldn’t provide.

Rose finished her cigarette, stubbing it out against the balcony- it was metal, of course- and flicking it over the edge.

She slid the glass door closed again, back in her room, and contemplated the door out to the hallway.

She turned the knob with a sigh, stepping out into the hall, and shut it carefully behind her. It was colder in the hall than her room, and she wished briefly she would have put on some socks or something, but it was what it was. She’d had worse.

She was a pro at creeping down the hall, the paths through the tower practically muscle memory at this point- though she hated to admit to herself that she knew this particular one so well.

Down the hall, around the corner, down the stairs, take a right. It wasn’t the first time.

She always tried to talk herself out of it on her way to Cassie’s room. Usually, though, if she was already out the door, at this hour of night- early morning, really- she was so desperately lonely it didn’t make much of a difference.

It was always Rose making the midnight journey, clad in her gym shorts and tank-tops, shoeless, chipped silver toenail polish that didn’t quite match her hair. Cassie never cut a figure in her door at three a.m., silk robe the color Rose’s name called to mind, lacy lingerie, hair somehow perfect even after rubbing against a pillow.

No, Rose supposed she was desperate.

She knew she was desperate, maybe even a little creepy, standing in front of Cassie’s door. It wasn’t too late, she could still turn around and try to go back to sleep, or finish off her carton of cigarettes. She could pretend like she didn’t need this.

But the truth was, Rose did need this. Needed with a raw, hollow ache, needed with a deep, nagging loneliness she pushed to the edges of her mind when she was with Cassie, a bright beautiful glowing light. Needed Cassie’s light to illuminate her darkness, even if it was a lie, shallow, for only a few moments.

She shied, again, giving in. Turned the knob of Cassie’s door.

 

Cassie was a beautiful view. Rose hated her. She hated how she slept in the exact same position as sleeping beauty, hands blissfully folded, clad in a lacy white bra and underwear set that had to itch. She was sickeningly sweet, cotton-candy-sweet, eyes fluttering open gently when she heard Rose’s soft knocks on the open door.

Cassie sat up.

“Oh, hey,” she yawned.

Rose looked at her feet, then back up at Cassie, who was rubbing at her sleep-clouded eyes.

“I can go,” Rose offered hesitantly. She knew Cassie wouldn’t tell her to leave- knew that, on an intellectual level, Cassie was polite enough to legitimately want her there, because Cassie was a caring person who liked to make other people feel bad with her kindness, or something, and even if she didn’t, she’d have no qualms about bluntly telling Rose to leave.

So, the bubble of relief when Cassie shook her head, beckoning Rose closer was completely unwarranted.

Rose knew the drill, they both did.

She climbed up on the bed, no blankets to push out of the way- Cassie slept on top of them, because she ran hot, like a furnace in the shape of a person, and Rose ignored the pang in her chest at the fact that she knew that, instead focusing on the thousand-watt grin Cassie was giving her.

It’s not like these midnight meetings were bad for Cassie. She lay back, muffling her giggles into the pillow. Rose crouched over her, gripping the sides of Cassi’s underwear and dragging them down, snatching them from where they ended up hooked around her ankle. She tossed them on the ground, running a trembling hand up Cassie’s leg, her hip, following the curve of her torso, cupping her breast through her bra. The lace was rough under her fingers, but what lie underneath was soft.

Cassie let out frankly endearing noises, and Rose always smiled slightly at having invoked them. She tried not to think about the fact that she was far from the only one to have done so. It didn’t make her special. She was here for a reason. A carnal one, on Cassie’s part, and more emotional for Rose than she cared to admit to herself.

She leaned down to kiss Cassie, unsure whether it was to silence Cassie or the thoughts in her own head. Either way, when her tongue was tracing Cassie’s bottom lip and she was quietly moaning underneath her, it didn’t matter.

Rose slid her hand down Cassie’s stomach, letting it teasing rest between her thighs, gentle pressure hinting at more where she wanted it most.

Rose pulled on Cassie’s lower lip with her teeth, eliciting a whimper. Her fingers were teasingly stroking the outer area of her sex, tips barely slipping in before pulling back out again, repeating this motion over and over.

Cassie arched off the bed, close as she would get to begging. Rose broke the kiss to move her hands to the clasp of Cassie’s bra, deftly undoing it, sliding it off her shoulders and tossing it to the floor with practiced movements.

Her right hand found Cassie’s cunt again, left kneading her breast. Cassie had fallen back on the pillow again, her golden hair fanned out around her head like a halo, framing her face, which was truly a gorgeous sight- eyes scrunched closed, pink lips parted, breathing ragged.

Rose growled, pushing her fingers into her, crooking like Cassie liked, working quickly.

Cassie’s breath came faster and faster, in little puffs and pants, and Rose smirked to herself. This was Rose’s favorite part, in all honesty- keeping Cassie on the precipice of losing control, pushing her just over the edge, watching the golden girl, normally so composed, let go for just a few moments.

Rose’s fingers quickened, the motion rough. Cassie arched off the bed, unabashedly mewling now- clearly close to orgasm. Rose, despite not having removed any of her clothes and not having touched herself or been touched at all, felt on the edge herself. She ground down onto Cassie’s toned thigh situated between Rose’s legs as Cassie fisted the sheets next to her, egging Rose on with a breathless “More, dammit.”

The urging was always in the form of a command, and Rose always took them well. She never said much, not during these dead-of-the-night trysts. Normally she’d be more focused on herself, more vocal, more… Rose.

But times like these, she was like an automaton. Make Cassie come, get out, have another smoke- wake up in the morning, pretend it never happened.

Don’t think about, and whatever you do, don’t feel anything.

God, she was so screwed.

She bent in on herself, grinding onto Cassie feverishly, and thumbed Cassie’s clit, curling her fingers, pulling them out before shoving them back in deeper.

Cassie came, moaning, and Rose slowed her fingers, working her through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

She pulled her hand away from Cassie’s now dripping cunt, wiping them on her shorts- Rose hadn’t come, not really. It didn’t matter- she doubted she would have felt any more satisfied, or any less empty.

Cassie’s eyes had flown open. She was always quick to catch her breath.

“Do you-“she started, but Rose shook her head, cutting her off. Cassie cocked her head, shrugging slightly, before laying back down, back facing Rose, pulling a pillow close to her and wrapping her arms around it.

Rose’s eyes scanned over her form, completely nude on the bedspread, like a spread from a magazine, but a tasteful one. By the time Rose finished her thought, Cassie’s body was rising and falling in the distinctive rhythm of sleep-breathing.

Yep, nothing work staying awake for, business as usual. Rose closed her eyes, shook her head- it wasn’t right to be bitter, why was she angry, this was her fault anyway, she’d gotten what she wanted-

She opened her eyes, bit her bottom lip. She worked it between her teeth, a bad habit she had when there wasn’t a cigarette, pen, or fingernail in her mouth.

She wanted to lie down, her back pressed against Cassie’s, and sleep. Cassie’s sheets were pink, of course they were, a blush rose hue- the color that her cheeks turned when Rose said something provocative- and as soft as the insides of her thighs. Her thread count must be ridiculous. Rose’s, by comparison, were second-rate Motel 8 garbage- white, coarse, more than a few questionable stains.

She wouldn’t, though. She raised a hand to her temple, rubbing in circles. The lack of sleep recently was apparently giving her a subtle yet persistent headache.

She shifted to the edge of the bed, perching there, sliding her foot across the soft pink area rug.

She sighed, clasping her hands in her lap- she could still smell Cassie’s sex on her fingers.

She stood up, as she always did. Padded to the door, as she always did. She didn’t make an effort to open it slowly, this time, without creaking.

Turning the knob, she swung it open, stepped into the hall. A rush of warm air hit her- Cassie always kept an extra fan or two in her room, she thought.

Rose glanced back over her shoulder at Cassie, still sound asleep on the bed. She slammed the door, and if a picture frame in the hall rattled and fell, or if Rose walked back to her room at a faster than usual pace, and if she felt a burning behind her eyes, well. That was her business.

When she got back to her room, it was pouring. So much for the second smoke on the balcony.

She cast a final look around, as if an inter-dimensional portal would appear and- and. And what? What, Rose, what the fuck do you want, she thought, shaking her head at herself as she pulled back the covers of her bed and crawled in.

There was nothing for her but the ceiling, with the familiar water stains, and the cocoon of well-worn sheets. The familiarity, at least, was comforting, though it did little to quell the feeling in her gut, pit-like, unwanted.

She closed her eyes, tuning into the muffled pounding of the rain against the roof, the sides of the tower. She knew, in a few minutes, it would put her to sleep. She’d get enough rest to function the next day. It would do nothing to soothe the ache in her hollow chest, or ease her buzzing thoughts. It wouldn’t wash way her past, her personality, all the bad and filthy parts of her. She’d wake up. Everything would be the same.

She closed her eyes, knowing it would be the same unless she changed it. She closed her eyes. She would change it, in the morning.

She slept.


End file.
